


Caught Up In Your Undertow

by Holly (spaciousbear)



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pre-Canon, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaciousbear/pseuds/Holly
Summary: Shorter could have, maybe should have, said something right then that would reassure Ash. It should have been as simple as telling him that he cared. But he didn’t. Feelings that came to him so easily were hard to define - maybe that’s why they had never talked about it.He would do anything for Ash, but he didn’t know if that alone made it love.Shorter knows Ash, perhaps better than anyone. But it's the things that are left unsaid between them that Shorter wonders about the most.





	Caught Up In Your Undertow

It was impossible not to hear about it, in the weeks after Shorter’s release from the detention center. Rumors spread like wildfire, but it took a keen ear to recognize the traces of truth that trickled between their words.

The first: whatever threat Arthur had perceived had proven itself to be more than mere paranoia and there was a disruption in the order of things taking place.

The second: among the rumors, one name kept being repeated. Ash Lynx.

Ash lingered on the periphery. He became a persistent murmur in the crowds Shorter ran in, like a boogeyman that needed only be named to be summoned. Arthur’s territory being usurped by someone so young had people nervous - Shorter couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d seen it first hand, the way Ash operated. Even after he’d thawed enough for Shorter to see him with more perspective, even when he’d finally seen the smile that might have belonged to a child in another lifetime, there was something about Ash that was chilling. Sometimes he wondered if he didn’t dream up all those other things, those long, meandering conversations under the soothing shade of a tree, Ash’s casual visits to the library to read or chat idly about books.

Either way, it was only a matter of time before they crossed paths again.

He expected it to be tense, coming face-to-face with Ash Lynx once, for the deceptive grace of his movements and his icy stare only to have hardened with his return to the streets, with time and experience. The kind of person that could have garnered so much clout so fast - he’d seen that capability.

However he imagined things going, the illusion was shattered when Ash walked in through the door of Chang Dai.

The afternoon had been dragging for some time, caught in the midst of an afternoon lull. Few people were scattered amongst the tables, but all eyes turned their attention to the boy who walked inside. Ash was striking enough no matter where he went, but he particularly stood out in the middle of Chinatown.

Shorter pushed his sunglasses up onto the bridge of his nose and quirked his head to the right. Nadia, having taken note of the movement, paused her own action and quietly cleared out to the back of the restaurant. There were a lot of things Shorter didn’t tell Nadia, things he didn’t want her involved in - but she’d at least agreed to get herself out of harm’s way if Shorter indicated any potential trouble.

But was there going to be trouble? Shorter couldn’t read Ash’s expression as he walked over to the counter, pulled himself up onto one of the seats, and waited. He even made quite the production of pretending to read over the menu, though Shorter knew, could acutely feel, that Ash’s eyes never once left him. Finally, he lowered the menu and looked directly at Shorter.

“So? You really talked up your cooking skills and I’m curious to find out if it’s all you made it out to be.”

And just like that, the tension in Shorter’s body loosened, finding immediate relief in his teasing words.

What Shorter didn’t expect was for that same smirking laugh to creep into Ash’s stony features, instantly warming them. He didn’t expect Ash’s eyes to glint with a welcome familiarity that he didn’t voice but instead spoke through the way he eyed Shorter with a sense of growing amusement. He certainly didn’t expect for Ash to reach out and run a curious hand across the rough, spiky hair along his scalp.

“Looks like your hair’s finally started growing out, melon head. Congratulations.”

Shorter couldn’t help but allow a grin to slip through to meet Ash’s.

“I think you’ve still got something that belongs to me,” Shorter retorted with a mock air of annoyance. “Wouldn’t want things to get ugly around here.”

When people asked how the two of them came to an understanding, how Chinatown and Ash Lynx’s group founded their tentative peace, Shorter would often shrug and tell them it was a tense, brutal fight that ended in a draw. Sing asked him to tell the story at least ten times, and Shorter enjoyed embellishing it a little more each time.

Ash was a dangerous creature, maybe more so when he seemed most docile. He was a beautiful demon with the face of an angel, whose green eyes glinted with a tinge of red in just the right lighting. He terrified anyone who had their senses about them, and with good reason.

But he was Shorter’s friend, too, one that had been hard-earned, and Shorter always made sure to remind himself of that.

********************

The first time it happened had been a surprise for both of them - he was pretty sure, anyway.

It was quiet and the sky was bleeding with early morning colors, the kind you only see after a sleepless night. The kind you only appreciate after spending that night uncertain you’d live to see it.

The night stretched behind them into streams of hazy memory. They hadn’t expected a run-in with the uptown crew, and while trouble was inevitable, they hadn’t expected there to be so many of them. They’d been outnumbered before, and there had been other close calls, but some just sank into Shorter’s skin with a renewed sense of mortality. It was one of those nights.

He couldn’t remember the trek home, only the stinging ache in his side where a knife had grazed him, one that had been aimed at Ash. He remembered Ash taking his shot, and his ears were still ringing with the proximity to where the bullet had sailed past him, too close. If Ash had been off even by a fraction of an inch - he decided not to think about it. They ended up at Shorter’s, not by conscious choice, but because the muscle memory of this particular path was stronger than the rest.

Spots of blood were streaked across his clothes, on his hands. His limbs were trembling a little, from the adrenaline and exertion. He breathed in. The blood he could do something about. He made his way into the bathroom and turned the shower on.

Hot rivets of water scoured his body red. He watched dark streaks pour down the drain as blood was washed off of him.

When he emerged from the shower, adorned in his boxers and toweling off his hair, Ash was lying on the bed. He didn’t look shaken, but his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, unmoving, and a cigarette was hanging between his lips - a rare habit, likely reserved for moments when he needed a point of focus that wasn’t his gun or a knife. The sight brought a slight tremor back into Shorter’s bones and he nudged, casually, at Ash with his knee.

“Can I grab one of those from you?”

Ash drew the cigarette away from his lips and let out a long, thoughtful breath.

“Last one,” he said without looking over.

“Fuck,” Shorter hissed under his breath in agitation. “Serves me right for not stopping at the 7-Eleven on our way back, huh?”

“I’m not sure they’d have even let you inside with an open wound and covered in blood.”

“I had both my shirt _and_ my shoes on,” Shorter said with a pointed smirk. “I don’t think a little blood should disqualify me from service.” Ash gave a breathless laugh at that, and the sound prompted a grin out of Shorter; the tension he was carrying eased a little.

“Want to share?” Now Ash had looked up and was regarding him thoughtfully.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

Ash sat up, shifted his body forward to move closer. Shorter settled down next to him in anticipation. Ash’s eyes took on a strange, almost wicked gleam as he took a long drag from the cigarette. He leaned forward, as though to hand it over to Shorter, but didn’t. Instead he continued to lean in, his eyes fluttering closed, until his lips were brushing up against Shorter’s. By instinct, Shorter’s lips parted, and he felt the swell of smoke as it passed through Ash’s lips and into his own. The effect was immediate; dizziness overwhelmed him and the hammering in his chest continued to pulse in his ears.

It only lasted a moment. Ash pulled back, eyes still set on Shorter. His lips tingled with remembered contact and Ash’s eyes remained on him, sharp and curious, a mischievous smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. There was still a streak of blood across his cheek.

“Do you want more?” Ash asked, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Shorter’s breath stilled as he considered his response. He released it slowly, wondering if there was a correct way to answer.

“I mean… if that’s the only way you’re willing to share,” he said through a nervous laugh.

Ash took another drag and leaned in, pressing his lips to Shorter’s - he was more prepared for it this time and parted them immediately to accept a second hit from the cigarette. Ash didn’t pull back, instead lingering against him, his tongue gently protruding from his mouth and running along Shorter’s bottom lip. Shorter didn’t back away, even as the slow exploration turned deeper, transforming into slow, curious kisses.

Shorter could have let it go on forever.

By the time his mind registered Ash backing away, his hands had already drifted, one to put out the cigarette on the glass surface of the nightstand, the other reaching inside of Shorter’s boxers, pulling them down to reveal his half-hard cock. Ash didn’t speak, he moved through a haze and Shorter could feel the wet warmth of Ash’s mouth enclosing around him. It took a moment for realization to settle in, and he tensed, pushing Ash away instinctively even as his body begged for the contact to continue.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a breathless murmur of a question. Ash stayed put, glancing up at him.

“You saved my ass out there tonight,” Ash said, his voice flat. The tone made Shorter’s skin crawl and he squirmed back a few inches.

“So what, this is repayment or something? Jesus, Ash, what do you think I am?”

Ash seemed taken aback by the rejection, if only by the small glint of shame that crossed his face as he stared back at him. Shorter averted his eyes and began to wriggle his boxers back up his hips. Ash’s hands moved and stilled him; it was quiet between them.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just… glad you’re okay.” Ash’s fingers trailed over the skin of Shorter’s legs and a jolt of pleasure seized him once more. “I wanted to. I want to.” Ash finished the statement with an air of surprise, the words perhaps more directed towards himself than Shorter.

Whatever argument Shorter had intended to make was lost, cut short by Ash’s hands and mouth on his arousal again.

And Shorter tried not to think about it - about how good Ash was at this, about the anxious adrenaline that still hadn’t calmed in his body. He thought, instead, about how the stinging ache in his side reminded him how happy he was that they were both alive. Then, he tried not to think at all.

He came quickly, letting out a soft groan as his hips tensed and gave a small jerk upward, as Ash’s fingers dug into him to hold him in place. Disorienting signals of fading lust and arousal pulsed through him as Ash drew back and moved to settle in near him on the bed.

Shorter shifted onto his side and chewed on his lip. There was probably a right thing to say in a moment like this, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance in hell of figuring that out. Telling the truth and hoping for the best seemed like the only option.

“I’ve never done anything like that with a guy before,” he said, vaguely embarrassed by the admission. “I’m not…” Ash cut him off before he could finish speaking.

“Lots of straight guys like getting their dicks sucked, doesn’t matter who does it. Being straight doesn’t mean as much as you think it does.”

“No, I don’t mean it like… shit.” He gave a shaky laugh to buy a moment’s time. “I just mean… I don’t know how to - return it?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Shorter sat up a little, indignant, his face set into a frown.

“Now, hold on - I don’t want anyone out there saying I’m not willing to... reciprocate. Not even Ash fucking Lynx.”

Ash stared at him. His plaintive expression softened as his shoulders began to shake and he broke down into tremulous laughter.

“Okay, okay. For the sake of your reputation.”

Without further prompting, Ash worked open the front of his jeans - Shorter was both encouraged and maybe a little intimidated to feel that Ash was already hard, open and inviting him to touch. He wrapped his hand around the length, and he could feel Ash’s eyes on him as he gave it an experimental stroke. Ash didn’t move or make a sound, but there was a twinge of acknowledgment in his eyes, not quite pleasure but a lively awareness of their connection, of Shorter’s tentative motions. Shorter tried again, moving until he found a rhythm that felt comfortable.

It wasn’t that much different, doing this for another guy. He didn’t mind it so much - hell, he even enjoyed seeing the way Ash’s body relaxed beneath him, just a little, as much as Ash could allow himself. The fact that Ash’s eyes fluttered closed anytime Shorter twisted his wrist, just enough to surprise him. It was the only way Shorter could tell he was enjoying it, Ash was strangely silent otherwise.

Ash came with a sigh, quiet and understated, like his own orgasm was an afterthought to everything else. He was still, and Shorter waited for Ash to react first in the strangely calm aftermath. This was where the doubts set in, where he started to wonder if this was a line that he shouldn’t have let them cross.

Ash was sitting up, pulling himself off of the bed, and Shorter expected him to walk out, filled with the same disgust he had for so many others.

“I’m going to need a shower,” Ash said, glancing down at himself, as though just noticing the remnant blood along with the results of their encounter. He turned to move towards the bathroom and Shorter didn’t move, uncertain what he should say.

As Ash passed him, he paused - he looked down at Shorter and let his fingers brush through the soft hair of his mohawk. Almost too quick to perceive, he caught a brief glance that looked a little bit like affection. 

********************

Ash’s presence in his life flickered like lamplight, luminant but disorienting. For the following months, there was no discernible pattern to it, when he’d seek company or when he’d avoid it. Shorter grew used to seeing him almost daily, often followed immediately by weeks of complete silence. An agitated cat who haunted his doorway but never quite asked to be let in.

Ash had his reasons, he knew, and he didn’t often question them. Even when his return was inconvenient or unexpected, even when it came in the form of an urgent knock on the door at three in the morning.

Being called on at odd hours wasn’t unusual for Shorter - but that often meant that one of his guys was there to tell him that a situation had erupted and he needed to get there, quickly. Sometimes it meant that one of his men was on the other side of the door, bleeding, having been caught on the wrong side of that situation. Whatever its cause, the sound put Shorter on edge immediately. He’d already pulled on a fresh set of clothes and gripped his knife in-hand before he’d even gotten close enough to the door to see who was there.

The jostling of the lock and turning of the handle let Shorter know that it wasn’t one of his own guys - they knew better than to let themselves in without announcing themselves. He held onto his knife, tight, and as soon as the door opened wide enough to gain access, he struck.

A hand halted his wrist just before he could make contact and Shorter backed away, startled. Ash was standing there, his face dulled and his clothing ripped and slightly mussed. He regarded Shorter warily.

“That’s some welcome.”

“What happened to you?” Shorter asked, skipping ahead of any formality.

“Was just in the area.” Ash shrugged, an attempt, he imagined, to appear nonchalant. It didn’t take much for Shorter to discern the truth.

It wasn’t obvious at first, he was steady enough on his feet and his words were coherent, but the glassy, distant look in his eyes was the cue that he wasn’t there, not entirely. It was only after that the sent of liquor and something else noxious and familiar hit, and Shorter took a step back to regard him.

“I was running some favors for the old man,” Ash said, his voice empty. He wet his lips as he paused, clearly considering if he wanted to say anything more. “I didn’t want to go back there.” Ash finally settled on that, and Shorter stepped aside to clear a path and allow Ash inside.

“Right. I’m glad you came here then.”

He’d known Ash long enough that his appearance was notable. He could count the number of times Ash had shown up at his door unprompted on one hand. He didn’t have to ask why - the things that Ash wasn’t saying filled in those gaps quite clearly.

Shorter wasn’t stupid. He knew the kinds of situations Ash often found himself in, both willingly and unwillingly. He’d heard the rumors about the kind of sick operations Dino Golzine ran. He knew that for all Ash had already experienced, for him to show up now, unannounced and in this state, it was bad enough that Shorter was better off not asking.

Ash collapsed on the sofa almost immediately, probably the most familiar place in his apartment, where they’d spent enough casual, idle afternoons. Ash leaned his head back and took in what looked like his first easy breath. He was silent for a while, long enough that Shorter was sure he had somehow passed out already. Shorter moved to the kitchen, quietly in case Ash had fallen asleep - he grabbed a clean glass and filled it with water.

“Did you know that the hotel down on fourth street keeps Dom Perignon in their rooms’ mini bar?” Ash’s voice emerged quietly, and when Shorter looked, he could see that his eyes were open again.

“Why the fuck would I know a thing like that?”

“Sometimes it helps,” Ash muttered, his voice barely a whisper now. “To forget things.”

“I’m more of a tequila guy. But you know that - that’s why we don’t talk about Jersey City.” It was a weak attempt to pivot the conversation, but he had to try something.

“And if you slip the guy at the front desk a nice wad of cash, they don’t ask any questions,” Ash continued as though he didn’t hear Shorter at all, his voice lowered into a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

Shorter froze. It was one of those uncomfortable things Ash would sometimes say unprompted, one of the few peculiar habits Shorter hadn’t quite figured out how to respond to. Often, Ash became more sullen or prickly if he tried to dig any further and Shorter began to liken it to a sickness that needed to be expelled. It was better to let it run its course.

For now, he settled on saying nothing in response and shoved the glass of water into Ash’s hand.

“Here,” he said. “Drink some of this instead.”

As Ash sipped at the water, quiet now, Shorter stretched, folding his hands behind his neck as he thought.

“Sofa’s comfortable enough. You can crash there.”

Ash stretched himself out over the length of the sofa, though he didn’t look restful in the position he took - his body language was still guarded and alert.

“Anyway, you owe me one for barging in this late,” Shorter said through a humorless laugh, a desperate plea to break the tension. There was a flash of something that crossed Ash’s face, a darkness that overcame his expression. Ash leaned back and Shorter detected a slight movement as his knees parted - only by inches, but suggestive enough.

“I can repay you right now,” he said, his voice took on an easy sultry tone Shorter had heard before, what seemed ages ago now. “Get a night with your angel, right?”

Ash was dangerous when he was beautiful, because he was beautiful, and Shorter’s stomach twisted into a nauseating concoction of revulsion and want.

“Stop that,” he said. “You’re going to feel embarrassed about this shit in the morning.”

“Don’t be coy now, I know you like me. I know you like it when I suck your cock.”

Shorter saw Ash’s alluring expression chill and harden into anger. It might not have been an outright accusation, but Shorter felt its sting regardless.

There had been a handful of incidents between them, in the months that had passed since that first time. Some of them had been an outpouring of frantic adrenaline like it had been then. Others, it was nothing more than simple boredom, perhaps, on Ash’s part, and curiosity on his own. Everything they did had seemed okay, at the time. Ash had always been a lucid, willing participant. It had never been like this.

Shorter wasn’t so sure if any of it had been okay anymore.

“Go to sleep,” he said before moving to back out from the room; it was too difficult to look at Ash in this state, to feel the dredge of guilt that stewed in his gut. “I don’t want any of that.”

Ash regarded him with caution before relaxing his body. He looked tired - or at least weary - a bit of the urgent tension melting away, as though he was finally settling back into his own mind. He set his head back against the armrest.

“Everybody wants something,” Ash mumbled. “But at least you like me. So go ahead and do your worst.”

His worst was, as he discovered, pulling an old, mildewy blanket out from the back closet and draping it over Ash’s body. It smelled a little strange, but it was warm, and Ash curled up beneath it as soon as Shorter placed it down. He didn’t stay to make sure Ash fell asleep, he didn’t linger; he left the room and allowed Ash the privacy to have that moment to himself.

 

In the morning, Ash woke slowly from the couch looking disheveled and sour. Shorter was already in the small corner that made up his kitchen, making what he could of whatever he had available. Cooking on such short notice required creativity, but he considered it something of an art and enjoyed the challenge.

“God, what is that?” Ash asked.

“Good morning to you too. Uh. Let’s call it my special Chinese breakfast,” Shorter responded with a grin.

Ash stepped closer, peering over the counter as Shorter threw some vegetables into the pan, eyebrow arched.

“Gonna put that on the menu at Chang Dai or is that going to scare the regulars away?”

“Depends on what my first customer thinks of it.”

Ash pulled a stool over to the counter and sat to watch Shorter as he cooked. Neither said anything about the night before. Shorter didn’t expect they ever would. After a minute of strangely companionable silence, Ash spoke.

“You always talk about taking over the restaurant someday. Is that what you actually want to do?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a future, right? Right now, people need me to keep things under control here, but eventually others will be able to do that. Once Sing’s old enough, when things are stable… I can help Nadia out more by being here. Won’t do her any good if I’m dead.”

“I guess so.” Ash didn’t look at him.

“Plus, I enjoy it. Even when I have shitty customers like you.” The hint of a laugh crossed Ash’s eyes, if only briefly. A crack in the facade, but it was something.

He placed a plate down in front of Ash, whose nose scrunched up dramatically as he gave It a sniff. Shorter pulled a chair of his own over and sat next to Ash at the counter.

It wasn’t much of a feast, but Shorter was proud of himself. Even when Ash complained, loudly, that if the smell of Shorter’s lousy cooking didn’t make him sick, surely the taste would.

Shorter didn't fail to notice that he cleared his plate anyway.

********************

By the time they made their way to Cape Cod, Shorter knew Ash was changing. Some of the changes were big - Ash had shifted his focus from daily survival to having a purpose. Some were deceptively subtle, like the way Ash seemed to be more aware of himself; the effect he had, the danger he posed, how to minimize the damage it caused. And wherever that fit into things between them, the strange gravitational attraction that Ash dictated in how he pulled Shorter in and pushed him away, he didn’t know. Somewhere in his bones, he understood that it too was changing.

Dusk had settled over them like a duvet, and they’d eased into the comfort of its setting. Ash had been quiet, unusually so, since they’d spoken with his father earlier. Shorter didn’t say anything to him about what had happened, about what he’d learned. It was a significant piece to the jigsaw puzzle that made up Ash Lynx, but there were still a thousand more that he was missing.

The night was muggy and warm, the house was stifling, so Shorter set off on his own for a walk and spent some time prowling the perimeter of the property. Everything was quiet, peaceful with no signs of danger apparent. Maybe the best thing about being out of the clamor of the city was that any kind of trouble made itself known fairly quickly.

Ash’s approach was wordless, as Shorter sat outside by the bed of the truck, smoking a cigarette. He dropped it and crushed it under his heel when he saw Ash moving towards him, his eyes both fiercely determined and tinged with a familiar emptiness. Shorter didn’t have time to think of what he should say, because Ash’s mouth was against his with a crushing, needy ferocity.

He’d barely registered the contact when Ash’s hands were wandering down, working at the button of his jeans. Shorter reached down to seize his wrists, to still them, and he pulled back to look at Ash. Ash averted his eyes. It was quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry your dad’s such an asshole,” Shorter said finally.

“He’s right, though. About me. I’m only really good for one thing and you’d all be much better off saving yourselves the trouble.”

“I’m in this now, Ash. I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted to be - you know that.”

“It’s not worth getting yourself killed because of me.”

Shorter could have, maybe should have, said something right then that would reassure Ash. It should have been as simple as telling him that he cared. But he didn’t. Feelings that came to him so easily were hard to define - maybe that’s why they had never talked about it.

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily. Someone’s got to make sure Eiji remembers which side of the gun to point at Dino's guys.”

At the mention of Eiji’s name, Ash’s expression changed, infused with some kind of renewed energy that only sought to highlight the existing shame.

“Don’t remind me. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this at all.”

“Are you kidding me? Eiji hijacked a cop car to make sure you got here, doesn't sound like he got dragged anywhere. And that’s a hell of a show of loyalty. I would’ve killed to see that.”

“He’s full of surprises,” Ash said, a bit of the tension relaxing from his face as he spoke.

Shorter would do anything for Ash, but he didn’t know if that alone made it love. The reasons they had not to take it any further collected themselves into a canyon between them. They were safer on their own separate sides. Across the divide, they stared at each other, neither able to bring themselves to be the first one to blink, to attempt to leap across.

Eiji would not only blink, he’d fall backwards into the void with his eyes closed, sated by the unshakable knowledge that Ash would be there to catch him. And Shorter could tell, by the light in his eyes and the way he let go when Eiji was around, Ash needed that.

Something ignited in Shorter when he realized it; not jealousy, something far more complicated. Acceptance, of the fragile stability in the trinity they formed, of the transition that was taking place. Not just acceptance, but relief, and a fierce affection for both of them that fanned the flame.

Then Ash did something he’d never done before. He leaned over, just a few inches to close the gap, and hung an arm loosely around Shorter’s body. It was over almost immediately, and it wasn’t quite even what he’d classify as a hug, however half-hearted and self-conscious, from anyone other than Ash.

“Thanks,” Ash said, his voice quiet.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For… everything. For helping me look after him,” Ash nodded toward the house as he spoke. “He’s hopeless sometimes, but he’s trying to help. He’s… he’s good. He’s a good person.”

Shorter glanced over at the house, whose windows looked like glowing eyes staring back at them. Against a lot of odds, Eiji was in there, having clawed his way through enough obstacles to make it this far. Having stared down the beautiful and dangerous Ash Lynx and decided, without fear, that this is exactly where he wanted to be.

“Yeah, he is.”


End file.
